--Road to Nowhere--
The trek was endless. Gren paused at the top of a dune, turning back to see the long, winding trail of his footsteps already being erased by the wind. As if he had never been there at all.
It had been almost two days since he had fled the outpost, and in all that time, he had not seen a single living creature, a faint trace of life. As the wind carried his footprints away, the sand swirling in the air in airy, whirling patterns, he began to wonder if he really existed. Could anything really live in this barren wasteland?
Pulling his burnoose tighter around his face to keep out the dust, Gren hefted his bag and continued the long, slow journey. He had no idea where he was going. The empty desert and the equally empty sky seemed to stretch before him into eternity.
He found his thoughts turning to Vicious. Where had the former commander gone? What plan did he have for escape? Why had he done such a horrible thing? Why had Gren trusted him? Why? Why. . .
His mind ran in circles, and he found no answer to his questions but the desolate howl of the wind. It seemed to call to him, crying out a mournful eulogy. For he was as good as dead. That thought didn't trouble him much however, he would only be joining the rest of his comrades.
Gren found it hard to gain footing in the shifting sand, and stumbled. He got to his feet, slipped, fell again. Getting up seemed pointless. The whole bloody war was just that. . .pointless. His fellow soldiers, men he knew and respected, were dead. All dead, and for what? A small, fruitless satellite that could barely support what little life it had. The sands of Titan were stained with the blood of men, and for little more than some vile scheme of the Red Dragons.
There was no escape. Gren stared up at the sky, following it as it faded from dull gray into inky blackness. Gren closed his eyes, and gave himself over to unconsciousness. The sky. . .it was endless. . .
The trek was endless. Gren paused at the top of a dune, turning back to see the long, winding trail of his footsteps already being erased by the wind. As if he had never been there at all.
It had been almost two days since he had fled the outpost, and in all that time, he had not seen a single living creature, a faint trace of life. As the wind carried his footprints away, the sand swirling in the air in airy, whirling patterns, he began to wonder if he really existed. Could anything really live in this barren wasteland?
Pulling his burnoose tighter around his face to keep out the dust, Gren hefted his bag and continued the long, slow journey. He had no idea where he was going. The empty desert and the equally empty sky seemed to stretch before him into eternity.
He found his thoughts turning to Vicious. Where had the former commander gone? What plan did he have for escape? Why had he done such a horrible thing? Why had Gren trusted him? Why? Why. . .
His mind ran in circles, and he found no answer to his questions but the desolate howl of the wind. It seemed to call to him, crying out a mournful eulogy. For he was as good as dead. That thought didn't trouble him much however, he would only be joining the rest of his comrades.
Gren found it hard to gain footing in the shifting sand, and stumbled. He got to his feet, slipped, fell again. Getting up seemed pointless. The whole bloody war was just that. . .pointless. His fellow soldiers, men he knew and respected, were dead. All dead, and for what? A small, fruitless satellite that could barely support what little life it had. The sands of Titan were stained with the blood of men, and for little more than some vile scheme of the Red Dragons.
There was no escape. Gren stared up at the sky, following it as it faded from dull gray into inky blackness. Gren closed his eyes, and gave himself over to unconsciousness. The sky. . .it was endless. . .